Sentimental Journey (27 page)

No one spoke for a full minute.

“Non petrol,”
Sabri said, then added, “No gas.”

Cassidy leaned over her, resting his elbow on her knee. “The gauge says it’s half full.”

“Mashi mezian.
No good.” Sabri opened the door with a loud creak.
“Bezzaf petrollkans.
In back.” He slammed the door.

Cassidy swore under his breath and wrenched open his side. His boots crunched on the rocks as he went back to the rear of the truck.

She scooted out the open door and swept his loose maps out with her. They brushed her leg, then crinkled to the ground.

As she stood up something small and hard bounced off the top of her foot. She bent down and felt around in the dry dirt, gathering the maps and refolding them. She kept brushing over the dirt, but she couldn’t feel anything else but a bunch of dry twigs, and small stones.

She stood and stepped back. Her heel crunched down on something. She squatted down and swept her hand over the fine dirt until her fingers hit a round metal disc. She picked it up.

His compass? Probably. It also felt dented, but the glass was smooth and unbroken.

She straightened and walked toward the back of the truck, rubbing the compass clean on her skirt. “Captain Cassidy?”

“Just a minute.” His aggravated voice came from deep inside the truck. “We have to get the gas out of here.”

She rounded the corner and stopped at the tailgate.

“Dammit, Sabri! These are only twenty-liter cans.”

“Iya. Oui. Regardez. Bezzaf petrolkans.
There are many,” Sabri told him.
“Soixante-cinq.”

There was silence.

She leaned inside. “That’s sixty-five.”

“I speak five languages, Kincaid. I can count in seven.”

“Sorry. Just trying to help.”

“Well . . . don’t.”

Whoa . . . Not a good time to give him his dented compass. She shoved it into her pocket with the maps and waited while they slid gas cans to the edge of the truck with a metallic scraping noise that she felt in her back teeth. Rather like someone sawing a car in half.

Cassidy jumped down a moment later and took her arm with a blunt grip. “Okay. Look. This is going to take a while, since we get to fill it up five gallons at a time.” He shoved the canteen into her hands. “Here. Take a drink.”

She took the canteen and drank deeply. “Thanks, my mouth was dry as dust.” She put the cap on and handed it back to him.

“You keep it. You might want more.” He hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I figure you might as well go do your business.”

“Thank you.”

“Listen, you about bit my head off earlier when I tried to help you walk safely out of sight. This time I’m going to be smarter and ask you first. Do you want help?”

“I can do it alone, if the terrain’s not rocky.”

“It’s flat as an A cup.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her. “Straight this way.” He gave her a quick pat on the butt that barely passed for a nudge forward. “There’s a small hill with some rocks in front of it about a hundred feet from here. A beeline. You’ll have some privacy behind those rocks. The land’s flatland all the way, sweetheart. Not a divot. Not a bush. Just dirt.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.” She started off toward the rocks.

He laughed, then called out. “You’re not an A cup, either.”

“
NICE
WORK
IF YOU CAN
GET
IT”

J.R. left Sabri to finish filling the gas tank and went to the truck cab. He pulled the binoculars out of his pack and jogged off toward the rise a few hundred yards ahead of them. They had run out of gas at a dip in a ridge, part of an area of rippling valleys in between foothills. From his position back at the truck, he had barely been able to make out the top of the opposite ridge. According to Sabri, the rendezvous point was on the other side of the valley. Another hour, maybe less.

Now, standing at the crest of the rise, he could easily survey the crusty terrain below, which was covered with dry grass and desert brush. He raised the binoculars and scanned across the wide plain to the distant horizon, turning slowly so he wouldn’t miss anything.

He’d been edgy. He couldn’t guarantee that the Jerries who’d held Kincaid would head for the coast. The flat tire made him nervous; it gave them time to double back.

He adjusted the binoculars in sharper focus.

The hills were about thirty klicks away. He couldn’t see much—a few more clusters of trees against the dusty color of the hillside. He scanned the area twice before he caught a glimmer of metal nestled at the base of a barren foothill to the north.

He adjusted the binoculars and held them completely still.

There it was: the dolphin nose of a C-47 transport. The plane was already there and waiting.

“Damn . . . ” J.R. checked his watch, then looked off at the sun sliding down the sky. They had an hour of sunlight left, maybe a little more.

He cupped his hands over his mouth and hollered. “The plane’s waiting. Sabri! Stop! That’s enough gas. Start the truck.” He turned toward the rocks. “Kincaid! Hurry up! Christ . . . How long does it take to squat behind a rock?”

It was a full minute before Kitty came stumbling out from behind the rock, brushing the skirt of her dress down.

Sabri had ditched the gas cans and was already in the truck cab. He slammed the door and started the engine. It sputtered to life.

J.R. signaled for him to go toward Kitty and pick her up first; then he shouted, “Can you hear me, Kincaid?”

“I’m blind, not deaf.”

“Cute. Real cute. Just stay there . . . where you are. It’ll be faster if the truck comes to you.”

Sabri jammed into gear and turned the vehicle toward Kitty.

J.R. set off down the rise toward them.

The truck went about fifty feet. Sabri shifted into second and drove it another ten feet, and exploded in a ball of fire.

Jesus . . . J.R. blocked his eyes for a second, then lowered his arm and just stood there staring at what was left.

Sabri was gone. The truck was gone. Smoke spiraled up from the black, burning ground. He glanced at Kitty.

She was okay, just standing there with her arms over her head.

He was so stunned it took a second for the cause of the explosion to register in his head.

“Cassidy?” Kitty straightened slowly, then dropped her arms. “My God . . . Cassidy? Are you there?” She took a step.

“Don’t
move!”

“What happened?” She was still walking.

“Stop, damn it! We’re in a minefield!”

She went still as a rock. “Was that the truck?”

“Yes.” He looked around.

“What about Sabri? Is he hurt? I don’t hear anything.”

“We can’t help him.”

“Wait. How do you know? Sabri!”

“There’s nothing left of the truck. Nothing.”

She made a painful sound and turned her head away for a moment.

J.R. had no idea how much of the land was mined. He looked around, but the whole area could have been mined for all he could tell.

“Cassidy?” Her voice was quiet.

“What?”

“Are we both in the minefield?”

“I know you’re in it.”

“So what do we do?” Her voice was higher, the way women’s voices got when they were shaken.

“Stay calm. Stay still. I’m going to retrace my footsteps, then retrace yours. But you need to give me a minute, understand?”

“Okay.”

He still had his equipment belt, just about the only thing besides the binoculars that he hadn’t left in the truck. “First I need to fire a flare. A signal for the plane.”

“Will they wait for us?”

“If they see the green flare they will.” He pulled the flare gun, raised his arm, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked. Nothing.

He pulled out the cartridge and reloaded it, then fired again. Zilch . . . ”Son of a bitch!”

“What happened?”

“The flare’s a dud.” He had to think. Fast.

“What are you going to do?”

Stick this flare gun in your mouth if you ask me another goddamn question.

“Are you still there?”

Hell . . . he’d forgotten she was blind and couldn’t see him. “Give me a minute to think.”

It was getting later. The sun was starting to go down; shadows were growing faint. The sky was turning rainbow colors.

He looked down. He had to be able to see their footsteps to retrace them. “I’m coming now.” He began to walk. Step in each footstep. It seemed to take forever before he spotted a mine, then another one about five inches from a footprint. Damn. . . .

“Talk to me, Cassidy.”

Fifty feet more. “Why?”

“Because I can’t take the silence.”

“Better silence than an explosion.”

She didn’t say a word.

“You’re awfully quiet, Kincaid.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your concentration.”

“Lucky for you, I’m good at what I do. Dying isn’t part of my plan, sweetheart.”

“I’m eternally grateful for your huge ego.”

“Good. When this is all over, I’ll have to come up with a way for you to repay me.”

“You never stop, do you?”

“The Yankee in me likes the last word.” He had made it back to his starting point. Now, he had to find her footprints. He studied the ground for a minute or two, then got real lucky. The distinct shape of the soles and heels of her shoes were easier to spot; they looked like fat exclamation points. The dirt was softer here and her footprints sank deeply.

But the mines were more difficult to spot. There was also the fact that if her foot had been only an inch or so away from a mine, his bigger boot could still trigger it.

“Where are you?”

“Halfway to you. This soft sandy dirt is a little trickier. You could always strip naked and give me a little more incentive.”

“I’ll give you incentive. I swear that if you get yourself blown to smithereens, I will hunt you down in the sweet hereafter and make your eternity absolute hell.”

“When we die, sweetheart, I doubt you and I will be in the same place.”